


and time is frozen

by chalantness



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 13:59:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3939451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness/pseuds/chalantness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's trying hard not to think about how close that guy came to a clean shot. If Wanda had been running even just a <em>little bit</em> slower…</p>
            </blockquote>





	and time is frozen

**Author's Note:**

> **for:** an anon on tumblr  
>  **prompt:** "Because they are how they are Steve or Natasha (preferably Natasha) finally finds the guts to say ' i love you' to the other for the first time through their earpieces, on the field during a mission, when they believe they won't be getting out alive?"

She's damn good at what she does.

She had better be, honestly, considering this is what her whole life has centered around. Maybe that hadn't been her choice in the beginning, but there's no changing that now and trying to feel sorry about it is a waste of energy. Every time she thinks she might want an out, she'll picture a little girl with a pretty face – young, easy to mold, to manipulate – and Natasha knows she'd go through it all over again if that means one less child becomes a weapon. There are few people trained the way she was and she wants it to stay that way.

The thing is – the _one_ thing that she still finds herself wanting to change sometimes – is that she's _human_.

It's not that she wants supernatural abilities. It's not even that it makes her feel inferior, not even now, when she works so exclusively with everything supernatural. She holds her own pretty damn well against monsters and magic and yeah, that's something to be proud of.

But there are just some hits that she can't walk off.

"Steve?" Wanda cries over the earpiece, slamming the iron door shut behind them. The top room of a tower is probably one of the worst places for them to be in when they've got Hydra agents closing in, but it was either up or down, and trying to get out of the dungeons would've been suicide. At least there are windows here to jump out of.

Natasha lets out a breath, slumping back against the stone wall for support, and Wanda's at her side in seconds.

This was supposed to be a simple sweep of an abandoned Hydra base in Australia. That's how Nick had phrased it during briefing, anyway, but she knew better. They all did. If he wasn't expecting trouble, he wouldn't have sent both her and Wanda, and he definitely wouldn't have made Steve and Sam their back up. And Maria was assigned as their pilot. She wouldn't have been put in the field if Nick wasn't expecting things to go south pretty quickly, which, of course they did. Natasha has a bullet through her side, just barely missing her ribcage.

(She's trying hard not to think about how close that guy came to a clean shot. If Wanda had been running even just a _little_ _bit_ slower…)

"Sam? Maria?" Wanda tries – _pleads_. Natasha watches as the girl rubs a hand over her face and through her hair. Totally something she picked up from Steve, too, because he does that same thing whenever he's overwhelmed.

"The connection's down?" Natasha asks, though it's not a question.

She has an earpiece. She already knows.

Wanda doesn't answer, but when she turns to meet Natasha's eyes, she's crying. It makes Natasha pause.

It's not as if this is the first assignment that Wanda's been on that's gone wrong. _No_ plan ever survives first contact and Wanda, above everything else, is really good at adjusting, of not letting her emotions shake her confidence. It's one of the things Natasha likes most about her.

But shit, Natasha would be shaken up, too, if the roles were reversed. They're running out of time before those agents are at the door, and Natasha being wounded means that they have to be careful about escape routes, if they even have any of those in place right now. It's a lot to handle, and even though the girl's hands are shaking as she fusses over Natasha and there're tears rolling down her cheeks, she still looks pretty damn strong, pretty damn determined to make her own miracle happen, and Natasha feels incredibly proud of her.

"We – we need to put pressure on it," she says, more to herself than to Natasha, like she's trying to force herself to keep moving. "We need to try and stop the bleeding."

"Yeah," Natasha breathes. "Blood doesn't make you queasy, does it?"

It's a question that doesn't require an answer, but she says it to try and ease whatever she can out of this situation, this moment, and Wanda glances at her as if she catches onto this. Wanda nods and reaches for the hand Natasha has pressing over her wound. Her skin wets with blood, and it's almost ironic that this makes Natasha a little nauseous.

Wanda moves Natasha's hand out of the way, and then her face _crumples_ and this little whimper escapes her throat as she presses her free hand over her mouth.

"Hey, hey," Natasha says, surprising even herself with how soothing her voice sounds right now, considering _everything_. She brings her other hand – the hand not covered in her own blood – and runs it over Wanda's hair. The girl inhales shakily. "It'll be alright," Natasha promises.

"Natasha," Wanda breathes.

Her hands are hovering over the wound in the way they do when she wants to do something, _anything_ , but can't.

Natasha strokes her thumb over the girl's temple. "We need to apply pressure, remember?" Wanda swallows, hard. "I can't do this without you, kid."

This seems to snap her back into action.

There're still tears rolling down her cheeks – she's actually crying harder now – but her expression is determined once again as she reaches around Natasha and tugs the knife from its holster on Natasha's suit. She slices off a strip of her dress at the hem, nicks the tops of her thighs with the motion but doesn't so much as flinch, and starts wrapping it around Natasha's midsection. She takes a breath to collect herself, and Natasha flinches as she tightens the material into place. "Sorry, sorry," she mutters, fingers fumbling to tie the knot.

"Don't be," Natasha says. _God_ , her voice sounds horrible. Wanda looks at her and Natasha manages a smile. "You're doing great, kid."

Wanda swallows and nods, the ghosts of a grin tugging at her lips.

It makes Natasha feel a little worse, if possible.

Because, truthfully? None of this will matter if they're not out of here fast enough, and with agents closing in and no communication to Steve or Sam or Maria, getting them out will take some time. Time Natasha isn't sure she'll have considering she's lost more blood than Wanda is probably aware of. They were running when she'd gotten shot and they kept running until they reached the tower. She can picture the blood on the steps, the stains growing bigger the higher up you get. She's almost afraid to see what the stone wall must look like behind her, how much blood must be on it, and on the floor. It's making the material of her suit stick to her skin and Natasha knows that feeling this much blood isn't good.

Giving Wanda any kind of false hope is a terrible, _terrible_ thing to do, but she knows that the girl needs a distraction, something to make her feel of use. She's got more power than any of them can grasp and she could very well collapse this entire place if her control breaks.

And feeling useless while her teammate is dying is probably one of those few things that _will_ break Wanda's control.

The sound of helicopters grabs their attention, and then Wanda's up and walking towards the gated windows. Natasha can see the helicopters coming into view, guns aimed right at them, but a flick of Wanda's wrist sends them crashing into each other before a single shot can be fired. Then there's a bang at the door, voices shouting over each other.

Wanda's head snaps around. Natasha closes her eyes.

And Steve's voice cuts through the static as their earpieces crackle back to life.

"—Natasha? Wanda?" He's shouting over a commotion in the background, voice strained, pleading. "Someone _answer me!_ "

"Steve!" Wanda cries. She's got her hand up, palm facing the door, eyes glowing. Natasha slides her gun from its holster and grips it tightly. "Steve, we're in the east tower!"

"We know and we're on our way," Sam answers. "The radios cut off but Maria was still able to track you."

(Well, that's something, at least.)

"Natasha's hurt," Wanda practically snaps, like she can't get the words out fast enough. There's more banging at the door and Wanda flinches. She's probably trying to hold the door shut with her telekinesis. If they force that thing open, it's going to hurt Wanda like a bitch.

" _What?_ "

Despite everything, Natasha can't help but chuckle. Just as she predicted, he's _pissed_. He always is when things are out of his control – her stubborn, _stubborn_ Steve.

"Gunshot wound," Natasha offers. She sounds as horrible as she feels. "Steve, there's a lot of blood loss. I don't know if…"

She can't finish her sentence.

Wanda looks at her, eyes wide, and Natasha looks away. "What?" she asks. Natasha presses her lips together. "Natasha!" Wanda snaps.

"Nothing could've been done," Natasha rushes out, because the girl needs to hear it. They all need to hear it. "Nothing _can_ be done. It's alright."

" _Don't say that, Natasha_ ," Steve shouts. "We're going to get you both out of there, alright? We're going to bring you home and Helen will patch you right up. We—"

" _Steve_ ," Natasha interrupts. Everything sounds distant to her ears. She barely recognizes her own voice as she says, "I love you. Okay? _I love you_."

"Natasha," he starts.

"I love you," she repeats, over and over again, like a prayer. He's saying something that she can't make out over her own whispers, and when she meets Wanda's gaze, she hopes that her expression is as apologetic as she needs it to be. "I'm so sorry," she says. "I love you."

Her eyelids flutter close, Wanda's scream and Steve's shouts echoing in her ears as her senses blur together.

... ...

Everything hurts.

That's her first thought. The second one is that it's way too _fucking bright_ even with her eyes still closed, so she's not all that set on opening them right now. She's not sure if she could even if she wanted to. Every fiber of her being aches, and her eyelids feel way too heavy. She's awake but just barely. She feels like she can fall asleep again in any second.

And she'd let herself, too, if she was alone. There are people moving around her. She can already tell.

Steve's hand is holding hers, big and warm and _safe_ , their palms pressing together and their fingers threaded. And she knows its Steve's. She's never held hands with anyone other than him, and it's like his skin is imprinted in hers, his touch lingering in her mind. She'd recognize him – everything about him – in a heartbeat and without doubt. He's stroking his thumb idly over her skin, a sensation she loves a lot more than she's ever admitted out loud. Not because she's ashamed of it, but because she's never needed to. He knows her almost as well as she knows herself, sometimes even better. They've been holding entire conversations in a handful of words and glances since they met. He's always just _known_.

"She should be waking up soon," Wanda's voice says, soft and filled with worry. Her panicked look from the tower flashes in Natasha's mind.

"She will," Steve promises. He sounds completely sure of this, and there's a tone of amusement as he adds, "She's probably trying to squeeze in some extra time off."

"Since when does Natasha enjoy time off?" Wanda asks.

"You'd be surprised," Steve says. "You know, one time she slept until noon?" Wanda makes a noise of surprise and Steve chuckles. "If she could sleep in until noon every day, she would. I was able to take my morning run, shower, change, finish breakfast. I got through three pages of sketches before she'd even _moved_ in bed."

"Hmm," Wanda hums, and then fingers reach gently, hesitantly, for Natasha's other hand, closing around it. "I guess it's in Natasha's nature to be extreme one way or another."

"Yeah," Steve agrees. "She's definitely a lot easier to draw when she's asleep. She fidgets a lot—could never get the exact image if I don't do a rough sketch quick enough."

"You should try drawing her now, then," Wanda says with a bit of a laugh.

Natasha laughs, too, just barely, and then immediately regrets doing so. Everything _hurts_.

Steve's hand grips hers just a little tighter, and when she finally blinks her eyes open, and her vision blurs into focus, he's staring back at her. Worry and relief and _love_ – there's no denying that it's there, and she stopped trying to a long, long time ago – fill his eyes as he scoots his chair a little closer to her bedside and greets her with a soft, "Hey."

"Hey," she echoes. Her voice still sounds shitty, but she only has a second to really focus on this, because then Steve's lips are on hers – gentle and tender and desperate.

The kiss is over as quickly as it began, but their faces linger like this for a few moments longer, their lips still touching as she smiles and breathes him in.

"Hey," she says.

He chuckles, kisses her again. "Hey," he repeats. He pulls back a little, just enough to look into her eyes. "You gave us one hell of a scare."

At this, Wanda's hands holding onto hers tighten, and Natasha turns to meet the girl's gaze. A tear rolls down Wanda's cheek and she gives Natasha a small but _beautiful_ smile. "I'm sorry," Natasha says, and yeah, that's kind of meant for both of them, and it's kind of a few different apologies in one. Steve and Wanda just smile a little wider but don't say anything in response. That's fine. She doesn't want them to. She wants to apologize and she loves that they both know that they need to let her, even if they don't think it's necessary. They probably don't, probably think it's ridiculous and there's nothing to them that she needs to even apologize for. But she _wants_ to and they're not just going to dismiss that, either.

"You might want to try apologizing to Nick and Maria, too," Wanda says, laughing a bit as she wipes at her cheeks. "They were a wreck when we brought you in."

"Payback," Natasha mutters. Steve chuckles, squeezes his fingers around her hand a little tighter. Of course he knows what she's talking about. Wanda must know, too, or just doesn't want to ask in this moment, because she laughs again like she understands.

"How do you feel?" Steve asks.

"Like hell," Natasha exhales, and even that hurts to do. On top of the gunshot wound and the blood loss, some Hydra agent got a few good hits of his own in before she'd knocked him out. She's definitely feeling some of that right now, too. She tries to shift but then lets out a whimper as this horrible pain shoots through her side. " _Shit_ ," she hisses.

Steve grips her hand. "Don't move," he says, which, yeah. She kind of clued into that part. "That's going to an impressive scar."

She closes her eyes, humming in agreement. "It's like the universe just doesn't want me in a bikini ever again," she mumbles. Steve _laughs_ and she grins.

After a moment, Wanda stands from her chair, untangles a hand from Natasha's as she tucks her hair behind her ear. She glances at Steve, smiling a little wider. "I should go get Helen, and everyone else, too," she tells Natasha, and she grins as she adds, "You probably want to savor your next few minutes of peace. Everyone's been worried about you." Natasha breathes out a laugh and nods. Wanda presses her lips together, hesitating, and then leans over and brushes her lips to the middle of Natasha's forehead in a quick kiss.

(Another habit she totally picked up from Steve. It's kind of adorable, actually, how much those two have latched onto each other.)

"Thanks, kid," Natasha tells her, and Wanda shrugs cutely and pulls her other hand from Natasha's, grabs her jacket off of the back of her chair and walks out of the room.

"So," Steve starts. Natasha looks at him. "You love me, huh?"

He doesn't sound like he's making fun of her and she doesn't see it that way. She just breathes out a laugh and glances away, pressing her lips together. "Yeah," she says. Steve's smiling when she meets his eyes and then it's like she can't get the words out fast enough. "I love you."

"That was one hell of a way to tell me for the first time." Natasha grins. Steve leans in, presses his lips to her cheek. "I love you, too," he whispers, warm against her ear.

She knows this. She's known this for a while, just like he's known for a while that she loves him. Still, the words make her let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

She tilts her head and kisses him, slowly, gently. Not because it hurts to move (which it still does) but because she wants to take her time.

She wants it to feel like they have all the time in the world. It always does with Steve.

He brings a hand up, tucks his fingers gently through her hair. She doesn't realize that she's crying until his thumb is smoothing over her skin, wiping the tears away. She feels ridiculous, just crying all of a sudden, but she figures she can get away with it. She came very, very close to dying. She's allowed to be a little emotional right now.

They hear footsteps and voices coming down the hallway, but neither of them pulls away until the door's being opened and everyone's shuffling inside.

"Sorry to interrupt the honeymoon," Nick says, in that voice where she knows he really _is_ sorry, somehow, but also isn't. (He's a strange man.) "How are you feeling?"

Steve grips her hand a little tighter (she doesn't think he's let go of it even once) and brings it up to brush his lips over her knuckles.

Natasha gnaws on her lower lip, smiling. "Better," she answers, holding Steve's gaze. "I'm definitely feeling better."


End file.
